


A Second Chance

by Alphinss



Series: To Continue or Not to Continue [3]
Category: American Horror Story, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, Magic, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Michael Langdon Deserves Better, Michael Langdon Needs a Hug, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Young Michael Langdon, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29759286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphinss/pseuds/Alphinss
Summary: Harry decides that Michael Langdon doesn't deserve to die, not when he was the power to stop it.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Micheal Langdon
Series: To Continue or Not to Continue [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187177
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	A Second Chance

Micheal had been kicked out of the house. The screaming face of his grandmother as the priest’s blood had still been running fresh from the wound. The cut that Micheal himself had made on the pale chanting throat. The one that which had burned latin into his ears. With his legs hanging off a bed that was too big for him. With a brain in his head which was too young for his body. Not really understanding what he had done. Not really knowing what was going on. Micheal had been banished from the only place that had ever been his home. 

Micheal’s feet on the pavement and the the clothes on his back. 

Suddenly a hand was at that back; clutching tightly to the denim. It pulled. His feet tumbling back onto the uneven pavement. He nearly fell on the curb, but the hand kept him steady. The grip was tight and Micheal was sure that his unsteady feet weren’t just from the pavement. 

It wasn’t a second before a car raced fast toward him. The spot he’d been standing in was filled with a screeching of breaks and a dart of black. It was only a footstep away. That was all that it had missed him by. That one step. Micheal’s body would have been crushed beneath the thick black wheels. 

Micheal’s eyes widened. 

He wanted to turn around. 

He couldn’t. 

“That was close.” 

The voice behind Micheal was a deep British lilt. The hand was still unforgiving in the denim. Firm in place. Eyes not moving and feet cemented. Micheal couldn’t turn; but it wasn’t the hand. Not the fingers clenched in the fabric. It was something else, something more. A screaming in his mind. Danger and damnation, dancing at the corners of his mind. He couldn’t move. 

But there was movement now. The click of a lock. The opening of a door. A woman stepping from the car. Her dark hair danced and her eyes burned black. A minute before and Micheal would have seen her as powerful. His heart would have hammered and his eyes would have become wide. But the force of nature that stood at his back. That was something so more sinister. 

The woman walked closer. 

The man spoke again. 

“I wouldn’t, Mallory.” It was a rumble. As threatening as it was calm. 

The woman could feel it too. Micheal could see it in those dark brown eyes. She seemed to freeze. Her hands dropping to her sides and the spark fading from her eyes. She didn’t speak. Micheal didn’t think that she could. 

“You’ve already taken many lives back, just by being here.” 

As the soothingly harsh syllables reached his ears, the fingers tightened in the denim. Micheal pushed down a shudder. A wave of power rippled, before it withdrew once more. Micheal felt his body sag slightly. He couldn’t say the same for the woman in front of him. 

“Normally I would suck your soul from you right where you stand.” 

The words sounded nonchalant with the man’s tone. But there was a strength of conviction backing that made Micheal sure the man could do it in a second. 

“However I believe I can overlook it.” Micheal could feel the threat radiating from the man. “As long as you leave, this one is just for me.” 

Micheal didn’t know what that meant. The words seemed so peculiar. Yet he didn’t quite grasp their full meaning. Micheal tried to turn. He couldn’t. The hand tightened and the power grew. His feet stuck to the ground. 

“It’s been decided. He’s mine now.” It was almost a purr. An uncomfortable feeling settled in Micheal’s stomach. He was not an object. Was not a thing to be owned. His shoulders tensed. 

Yet as quickly as the feelings began to rise Micheal felt the hand in the denim. The fingers were pressing forward into his back. Feeling the heat from them. A wave of calm also seemed to cover Micheal. As though he was being embraced by a warm blanket. His shoulders un-tensed. 

“Mallory, you know what will happen if you cross me. I would tell you to warn Cordelia. However we both know that will be a little difficult at present. But she will know soon enough.”

The woman was still only staring at the man that stood behind Micheal. 

“Now off you go, Mallory. I’m sure i’ll be seeing you soon.” 

The woman did. Like she had no other choice. Her feet back to the car. Her hand turning the ignition. Her foot pressed the accelerator and she was gone. 

Micheal was left. 

A hand in his denim jacket. His feet glued to the floor. 

For the first time the voice turned its attention on him. 

“Now Micheal.” Micheal still couldn’t see this faceless man. “Everything is all right.” There was a smile in the tone, even within all its seriousness. That reassured Micheal. Even if he wasn’t sure why. 

“You’re going to be living with me now. Not that we’ll be staying anywhere for long. You’ll find that I’m a bit of a tourist.” Micheal was sure that the man was joking, somehow. But he carried on speaking and Micheal was sure he didn’t get the joke. 

“But for now we’ll be staying somewhere to get you settled. Somewhere you’ll find comfortable until we manage to find a way to direct some of those more…murderous urges.” Micheal tensed at that. 

The fingers quickly released the denim, dropping as though they had never been there. It was as though an invisible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Suddenly his feet had movement. Suddenly his limbs were free. 

Micheal whipped around, his feet nearly collapsing beneath him. He managed to stay upright. 

The sight that met his eyes was not what he expected; a man, hard to place. His eyes were a sparkling green, his hair jet black. A jagged scar, the mark of Odin, across his forehead. Ageless. Dressed in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans. Shorter than Micheal by at least a head. 

But Micheal couldn’t look away. 

So much power and seemingly none at all. Nothing. He was utterly empty. Yet bursting from the seams with an utter explosion of magic. 

It made Micheal’s eyes hurt just to look at him. 

“Well then, come along Micheal. Let’s get you settled.” 

The man turned and walked away. 

Micheal couldn’t do anything else but follow. 

* * *

Micheal cast his gaze around the house where he had been born. The house where his mother and father had died. The house that his grandmother idolised. The house that had always been more important than him. It caused him to shudder. 

“Don’t worry Micheal.” The man’s desire to comfort him, was perplexing. “They won’t bother you with me here.” That sentence was even more so. 

“I think a cup of tea and a talk. Don’t you Micheal?” 

The man didn’t wait for an answer. He merely walked to the kitchen. Micheal followed him. 

“Sit down won’t you.” The man indicated at the table. But he didn’t wait for Micheal to sit. He only walked to the fridge; grabbing milk before flicking on the kettle and taking out two mugs. 

Micheal really didn’t know what to do. He sat and before he knew it he was sipping at tea and nibbling at the biscuits on the plate before him. 

He stared at the man who had a bright red mug between his curved hands. Steam rose and obscured his glasses. The man blew at the mug. He looked so normal. But looks were more deceiving than anything else could be. 

The man took a bite of a biscuit, then another. He finished and then set down the hot mug on the counter which he was leaning against. 

“Do you feel better Micheal?” 

Micheal thought about it. Surprisingly, he actually did. He felt calmer somehow. His mind was clear and the voices weren’t screaming at him so much. He nodded. 

“Good. That’ll be the tea.” The man smiled. “Never underestimate the power of a good cuppa.” 

Again Micheal was sure that he was missing something. He wasn’t sure exactly what the man was saying. There was always something under the tone. An inside joke that Micheal just didn’t get. He rubbed at his brow. If he was not in this body of a man, he may have cried. 

The other seemed to realise this. He walks over to Micheal from his position against the counter. He stood by Michael’s side, no eye contact, but his hand did rase. It soon rested solidly on Micheal’s shoulder. 

“Welcome to my house, however temporary it may be.” The man smiled a very small smile. His fingers clenched slightly. A reassuring pressure. “My name is Harry, just Harry, and you are very much accepted here. You can only be who you are Micheal.” 

Micheal turned quickly to the man. Hey saw nothing but truth in those green eyes. 

* * *

It had been three days and Micheal hadn’t learnt much. Not much at all about the man who he was living with, Harry. The ghosts seemed to flee from him. That much Micheal had noticed. Whatever room he was in, they were not. Not a single one. 

But what Micheal had learnt, was that the man seemed more considerate than his previous caretaker. He fed him three times a day, talked with him, played with him, taught him. If Micheal didn’t know better, he might even say he cared for him. 

At the very least he didn’t lock him in a room filled with mirrors, or beat him when he misbehaved. He didn’t scream in his face when he made a murderous comment and didn’t pin him to a wall when he had discovered the dead cat in the garden.

Harry had only patted him on the head and told him that next time he felt like that he should come and talk to him. Micheal had been baffled by the whole affair. 

Micheal was pulled from his musings by a knock at the door. The door to his bedroom; the one the man had said he could choose his decorations for. One with board games piled on one wall and books on another. One that was his space; his place. No ghosts. No Harry’s. Only him. Micheal was sure that Harry had done something to ensure it. 

“Yes” Micheal called to the man behind the door. 

“Breakfast is ready Micheal. Come down when you’re ready.” Then Harry was gone. 

Micheal pulled on a dressing gown, Harry having explained the chill of the house to him, as, only yesterday, Micheal had walked down in only his pyjama bottoms. The man had seemed genuinely concerned. So Micheal thought he would wear the gown he had been given only a few minutes after his entry to the kitchen. Micheal didn’t want to see that sad look once again in the man’s eyes. 

On his way down the stairs Micheal crossed paths with only two of the spirits who lived in the house. Hayden and Bea were playing at the bottom of the stairs; the ball rolling between them. They didn’t even spare Micheal a glance. 

“Good Morning Micheal” 

Harry was standing at the kitchen counter; two plates in front of him. A pan in one hand and a spatular in the other. He smiled up at the young man who stood bare foot. 

“We should get you your own gown, and some slippers.” Harry tilted his head with a smile. “Maybe after breakfast we should go shopping.” 

Micheal didn’t say anything and only blinked at Harry. 

“I’m sure we could get you some clothes that you like more as well.” Harry had a wide smile on his face now. “That yellow and denim isn’t really you.” 

Micheal felt a pull at his own lips. “Okay” 

“Well then sit down and after breakfast we’ll head out.” 

Micheal sat. A plate soon set before him. He ate at a steady pace. 

Harry talked and talked through the meal, unconcerned for Micheal’s lack of response or the ghost who would sneak into the kitchen before scurrying out again. He just continued to talk. The weather, the garden, the house remodelling. Trivial conversation, which soon turned to white noise. 

Micheal’s plate was soon finished. 

“Go upstairs and get dressed Micheal. We’ll go shopping as soon as you’re ready.” 

It took Micheal only a few minutes to throw on his clothes; his washed and rewashed t-shirt and jeans. They were the only clothes that he had, which weren’t inches too short and borrowed from Harry. Micheal hurried down the stairs. Then they were off. 

Micheal sat in the front seat of the car, next to Harry. The man had made sure to remind Micheal of his seatbelt. 

It wasn’t a long drive to the shops, Harry told him. Only about half an hour. Micheal could pick the music. Not that there was much on the radio. About five minutes of flipping through stations and Micheal was becoming frustrated at the lack of good music. 

Micheal sat back from the radio in frustration; a sigh escaping his lips and a glare on the radio, the station playing a crappy pop song. Micheal wasn’t sure why, but it made him angry. He glared at the offending box; it was mocking him. 

He wasn’t sure how it happened; but one minute the music was playing and the next the radio exploded in a bang. Fire sparked from the dashboard. The tune being violently halted. Micheal flinched back. The dead cat might have been permissible. But setting the man’s car on fire was a different matter. 

Harry barely even looked. 

“Well I guess it’s no music for us then.” A joke. The man was joking. He wasn’t scared of him, wasn’t in awe. He was just grinning at the road before him. 

“Just put it out and we’ll call it even.” Harry looked back at the road and Micheal looked back at the flaming radio. His eyes hardened and he concentrated with all his might. A snap, a blink and the radio was as it had been. 

Harry didn’t turn the radio back on during their trip and as he had promise they arrived at the mall within half an hour. 

They walked through the mall in a way that Micheal never had before. They wouldn’t rush from isle to isle, before stopping to flirt with the shop assistant and then being told to stuff things in his pocket. That was he only way he got toys. Anything that could fit in a child sized pocket. Micheal had had a lot of toy soldiers and pens. 

With Harry it was a totally different experience. The man would stop and start, looking at many things, before pulling whatever he wanted into the trolly. Washing tablets, kitchen equipment and a few other things went in, before they reached anything that really required Micheal’s attention. 

“There aren’t that many clothes here, but I’m sure we’ll find something.” Harry gave a small smile to the young man beside him. “We can always have a look somewhere else once you get a few things here.” 

Micheal didn’t really know what to say, he just nodded, a little wide eyed. 

“First we should probably get you some underwear and socks. You know your size?” 

Micheal didn’t. 

“Well, we’ll grab a few that look right and you can try them on.” 

Micheal just let himself be dragged along, not really sure what it was that he was doing. He’d never really done this type of shopping before. He soon found the size though, but that really wasn’t the end of it. However as soon as Harry saw the look of bafflement on his face when asked if there was anything that he wanted, Harry took over. 

They very quickly piled clothes in the cart. Pants, socks, three pairs of jeans, the same number of tracksuit bottoms, about a dozen t-shirts, pyjamas and three pairs of shoes. They then headed to a new isle that Michael blinked at with awe and a smile. So many toys. 

“Pick whatever you like.” Harry cast a small smile at Micheal. “I’ll chose a few things myself as well.” 

Harry placed a gaming system into the cart next to the clothes, piling games in on top of it. He picked up a football, a basketball with a stand up net along with a baseball glove and ball. 

Micheal blinked at Harry with confusion. 

“What…what are those for?” 

“Well, we have some time, we can play some sports in the yard.” 

Micheal was wide eyed. His grandmother had never played with him before; never taken the time to show him how. She had only yelled and criticised everything that he ever did. He had only tried to love her, to show that he cared in anyway that he could. The mice, the cats, the nannies. They had only been because he cared. And she had thrown it back in his face. 

“We can play?” 

Harry couldn’t help but notice how childlike the voice was. He sounded little more than a toddler who had never had the chance to just have fun. 

“Of course we can Micheal. You can get some other things to play with as well. GO ahead, chose something.” 

Micheal looked at the shelves in awe, so many things. Even though Micheal didn’t chose anything, it seemed that Harry could just tell what he wanted. As soon as he looked at something Harry would put it in the cart with a smile. They soon had a nintendo ds with games, several lego sets, a ping pong table set and more. There were also decorations for his room. 

They left the supermarket with bags full and Micheal’s heart soared. He dared to hope. Could this man really be who he thought he was? Could he really be someone new to him? A relationship he’d never had? A father? 

* * *

Another week passed and Micheal had never felt so joyous. He played, he slept, he ate home cooked meals and chatted with Harry. The man didn’t tell him much about his life, in fact he didn’t really tell him much about anything. He seemed to keep his comments to himself, his hands close to his chest. 

But life always had a way of turning around, of becoming worse. There were things happening; not normal things. Since the radio in the car had exploded, it seemed that the flood gates had opened. The baseball would rocket from its place on the floor and into Micheal’s hand. He would wake up floating above his bed. He had smashed the mirror into pieces and hidden the evidence. His game console would spark as his frustration built. 

But even with these accidents Micheal ignored them, tried not to think about them. He didn’t want to do anything but please Harry. 

Micheal walked into the kitchen with a smile and flicked on the kettle, Harry liked tea. Micheal gott himself a bowl of cereal and started on the pot of earl grey as the kettle steamed. He poured out two cups and brought them over to the counter. 

However as he walked toward the table Harry stepped in, startling him from his concentration. One mug, then the other slipped from his grasp and as though in slow motion they began their decent toward the floor. 

But then the mugs froze; no more than a foot from the ground. The older man walked toward Micheal with a blink, his hair messy and uncontrollable even as Micheal started to feel the panic setting in. 

Harry bent and took the yellow mug into his hands. “You seem pretty good at that” he took a sip from the unspilled tea. “You want me to teach you?” 

The other mug smashed to the floor; the hot liquid spreading across the tiles. 

“W-what?” 

Harry waved his hand and took another sip of tea. The mug reformed, the tea vanishing before the red ceramic floated to rest on the counter. The black haired man took another sip of the tea. 

“You want me to teach you how to control it a little better? Learn some new tricks?” 

Micheal only stared in awe and disbelief. What in the hell had just happened? Harry walked toward the kitchen table, taking a seat. He took another sip. 

“Oh and sorry about the team, figured you want it with the dirt from the floor mixed in.” 

Micheal almost collapsed into the seat opposite Harry, his movement causing the bowl of soggy cereal to thump against the table. He only stared at the black haired man in disbelief. 

He knew that the man was different. That there was something about him that wasn’t the same as the rest of the humans that milled around and never even noticed that there were ghosts lurking in every corner. But…Billy Dean knew that. Constance Langdon knew that. There were people out there who could see through it all, and see into something that more resembled truth. But Harry…Harry was not one of them. 

Harry was like him. 

Harry had looked at the powers within Micheal as though they were nothing and demonstrated his own with a nonchalance that no one of such strength should have. He could control the powers, force them to do as he wished. And yet there he sat at a table in pyjamas, a birds nest for hair, sipping at a cup of tea. 

“You can teach me?” Micheal didn’t mean to sound so hopefully uncertain. 

Harry hummed. “Anytime you would like.” He took another sip of his tea.


End file.
